***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik remained cross-legged in the cave, his body engulfed in golden flames that licked at him like hungry beasts.
They devoured his robes first, leaving charred remnants that crumbled to ash.
Then, they turned on his flesh, already battered and broken from seven—now edging into eight—days of relentless punishment.
His blackened skin cracked like brittle stone, glowing veins of molten gold spilling through the fissures, spreading like rivers of lava.
It should've been horrifying.
It should've been agonizing.
But he wasn't screaming, wasn't writhing—he wasn't even flinching.
His face didn't betray a single flicker of pain.
In fact, he looked... calm. Too calm.
As if he was exactly where he was always meant to be.
Home.
Wherever 'home' was.
That didn't mean the pain wasn't there, however.
Because oh, it was there.
